“Forgive me, Knower, but I don’t want your sympathy. I want action. I want to strike back at the people who savaged my planet. Our world was once mostly forest. Now it is a wasteland, centuries of harvesting it meaning it will never recover. And for what? Expensive furniture for priests preaching unity and salvation from a pulpit made from the bones of a dead world.” The alien let out a long hiss. The complicated software in the ship’s computer couldn’t translate the expression, but it didn’t need to, Orson knew instinctually it was a pained sigh.
“I understand. Your ship, your crew, tell me about them.” Orson glanced down at a tablet before him. He was expecting an update, but it hadn’t come through yet.
“The Ick’charr is a cargo transport. We’re unarmed, but we can still be useful. Perhaps to carry soldiers or supplies. We are not many, six in total. We have little combat experience, but my crew is willing to learn.”
“I’m glad to hear that, Mr…”
“Ivix. Though I believe the Mr honorific is male. I am female.”
“I apologise,” Orson said.
“It’s fine. Mammalians often have trouble with that, you would not be the first, nor last, to get it wrong. The galaxy is a confusing place, so many different people and customs, even within the Council.”
Orson nodded. He wasn’t afraid to admit he found even human genders confusing. A kindly cousin had tried to explain it to him during a family barbecue once, explaining what they had meant by stating they were non-binary. It had taken a few hours before Orson had understood it. He would miss his family, the weekend barbecues, the social media arguments, the awkward Christmases, all of it. He would miss his wife Maria most of all. Orson was under no illusions he would make it back to Earth anytime soon, if ever. Trying to free Earth from a galaxy-spanning empire wasn’t something he expected to achieve in his lifetime.
“You aren’t wrong there. The galaxy is an interesting place.” Orson glanced down at his tablet. There was still no update. It wasn’t a good sign. “Well, I will consider your application. Gentlemen, can you take our three guests to guest quarters please whilst I consider it?”
“Yes, sir,” replied the marine to his left. The Council marines assigned to the Gallant were all human, the concept of the first all human crewed ship a propaganda push on their part. The marines had seen the same things as Orson and had all been part of the discussions that had led the Gallant down its current path. They had all agreed on it, not a single solider voicing a concern. The men and women were multinational, a deliberate attempt by the Council to prevent national pride interfering with the running of the ship. It had backfired somewhat, the crew bonding over a shared love of their planet instead.
“Thank you,” Orson said as he stood up. “If you excuse me, I have some work to attend to before I make my decision.”
Sergeant Taylor readied her weapon, holding the alien rifle to her chest. She was still not used to it, the thing had almost no recoil to speak of, and its sighting wasn’t particularly good. It was a weapon designed to look impressive more than anything, and whilst it could certainly kill, she missed her trusty SA-80. They tended to jam sometimes if there was too much dust or sand, but it felt more useful in an actual fight. Taylor knew that there was certainly more worthwhile weapons out there in the galaxy, but the standard Council rifle was all they had been given.
She was sitting in the shuttle, her armour clanking as she bumped up against the other marines. That had been an adjustment at first, Taylor was used to Kevlar and a helmet, not an entire body-fitting suit of armour. It made Taylor feel like a robot, the whirring of servos and synthetic muscles as she moved didn’t help. The armour was heavy, and provided automatic assistance to the person inside it, interpreting her movements. Taylor had imagined lifting cars when it had been explained to her, but the truth was that it was just enough help to offset the weight of the armour. Military equipment not living up to promises was apparently a galaxy-wide thing.
“Ready up in two, marines,” Taylor said. The shuttle shook as it attached itself to the docking clamp. Taylor wasn’t a marine, not really. She had been former SAS, and the rest of the squad on the gallant had been drawn from a dozen different services. Navy seals, Russian Spetsnaz, and even Israeli ‘Oz’ Commandos thrown together. The idea was for the first human Council unit to be the best of the best, but the Council had paid little attention to what each special forces unit actually specialised in. They had collectively settled on marines as a designation, the Council preferred the term trooper, but everyone agreed it sounded a little sinister.
The other marines just nodded inside their helmets- their weapons ready. There was only four of them, including Taylor, and even then, the alien shuttle was cramped. It wasn’t the ideal first meeting with potential allies, boarding their shuttle in secret and using it to sneak aboard their ship, but there weren’t many other options.
“Clamp is on, airlock is sealed,” Nguyen said. The woman was sat in the pilot’s seat, the only one with any real training in operating alien vessels. Nguyen had rapidly become Orson’s second-hand woman. “Huh, no response from the door. Reattempting. No response again. The airlock is sealed on their side.”
“Not a good sign,” Taylor said. “Ok marines, looks like no-one is home to let us in. We’re going to have to breach. Get ready.”
Taylor stood up, stepped across the shuttle towards its airlock door. It wasn’t wide, designed for a single person. Thankfully the doorway seemed built to Council standards, Taylor had seen the strange thin insectoids as they had disembarked, and she didn’t relish trying to squeeze through doors sized for them in her armour. The other marines followed, lining up behind her.
“Helmets on?”
The marines replied the affirmative in unison.
Taylor nodded, pushing the switch to open the door. She unhooked a small device from her belt, a dull grey object the size and shape of a brick. She stretched it in her hands, the lump proving malleable. She squeezed it out, pressing the substance around the outer edge of the door. Her task done, she stepped back.
“Are we ready?” Nguyen asked. Like the marines, she was wearing a suit of combat armour.
“Opening the outer door now.” Taylor tapped a control on her wrist and the grey substance outlining the door began to glow orange, the light rising until it was blinding white for a moment. It faded as quickly as it had begun, the door falling away with a clang, the heat burning a neat circle in the door.
“Next block, sergeant,” said one of the other marines passing another lump of grey.
“Thanks, ok, line up behind me. Corporal, stay at the back, let the marines go in first.”
“Don’t have to tell me twice,” Nguyen said. Like the others, she was a soldier, but she wasn’t special forces. She knew to let the experts, or as close as they had, take the lead.
“Ok, placing charges. Get ready to breach.”
Gruvax was crouched behind a crate, weapon in his hands. He knew they were coming, the alien traitors. Sure, the shuttle pilot had spoken his language, but any translator could do that, and they had forgotten to give the passphrase. It meant Ivix had failed in her attempt to infiltrate the rebel group, either dead or captured. Gruvax and the others would make sure that whoever was coming aboard now would pay at least.
He looked around at the others spread throughout the chamber. The interior of the Ick’Charr was almost entirely composed of a single vast cargo bay, and the airlock emptied directly into it. There was six of them total, all clasping what weapons they could find, mostly sidearms.
There was a fizzing noise, followed by a bright light. The airlock door fell away and they opened fire, bursts of light and fury erupting from the barrels of their guns. The shots vanished into the dark of the airlock, fired wildly and unprofessionally. Their barrage was answered by a single silver orb which sailed out from the darkness, rolling across the hold.